


Believe Me, Darling, The Stars Were Made for Falling

by Husbandits



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Deception, False Identity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Husbandits/pseuds/Husbandits
Summary: An information gathering mission to the somewhat distant past leads Jesse McCree to a clandestine encounter with the Van der Linde gang, and morality and captivation lead them to a strange and, hopefully, restorative future
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. My Heart is Pierced by Cupid

**Author's Note:**

> it's here!
> 
> this was originally going to be a soulmate au, so it's a bit wonky here at the start, and might get going a little fast, but it's worth it, trust me. updates will be slow, but i'm hoping to keep at this for a long time- check out my tumblr (same name) for updates!

The sky above him is a deep inky blue, constellations highlighted in a silver all the more dazzling for the century and a half of pollution not obscuring their view. Jesse grunts, closing his eyes again. Fighting the urge to watch the bright swirls of cinder and embers rise up and up into the night sky on their fiery little paths. Sleep. He needs sleep.

There’s a long, tricky path of his own ahead of him, and he needs the energy to stay focused and aware. Staying rested is important.

The thick, imposing shadow of the man sitting watch at the campfire makes that difficult, admittedly. His wide-set shoulders, and broad, cozy looking chest. distressingly handsome features drawn into a look of dull concern, as he gazes just beyond the fire, one hand loosely holding onto the bottle sitting on his thigh. 

With a determined scowl, Jesse closes his eyes again. Rolls over onto his other side, back to the fire now. Sleep. He needs _some_ sleep tonight.

“You're still awake, Mister Oakley?” His other guide- Clarence, his name was?- pipes up after some time of little success, voice softer than it’d been during the day, but still sharp enough to be clear over the low crackle of the fire. Enough to cut through whatever thin veil of slumber he’d apparently managed to sink into. Not sleeping after all, then. 

With a grunt, Jesse rolls over onto his other side, and gives a nod, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something in his expression must give away his exhaustion, because the man gives an almost apologetic shuffle back, but Jesse just sits up with another grunt, willing away the stiffness settled in his shoulders as he rolls them. “I suppose I am. I’m afraid I’m… Not exactly used to these sleeping conditions.” He flashes the older man a nervous smile; his alias is supposed to be a travelling professor from Vermont, so it’s not entirely out of the question that he’d not had to deal with conditions like this yet. “Well, not yet, anyway.”

At the fire, Roy gives a low sound of humor, shifting back and spilling more light onto the pair. Has a guarded look of amusement, when Jesse dares give a glance. “Oh you get used to it- trust me.” This earns a light-hearted smack from his companion.

Oakley had, in theory, hired the pair as guards as he travels through the dangerous, crime-riddled state on his way to set up an observatory out west, away from the cities and their smog. In truth Jesse can very well take care of any trouble that wanders into his way and he doesn’t really intend to go much further than New Austin before heading back to his time, but Thomas W. Oakley is an ambitious, foolhardy man who’s had the luxury of naivety all his life. It plays into the character, and gives him some needed company to put the finishing touches on his performance. And maybe, if he plays his cards right, could get him some info on the pair of outlaw gangs tearing up the local area- beyond the vague, likely unreliable, information he’d managed to find in the weeks leading up to this mission, that is.

In the distance, a wolf howls, interrupting Jesse from his introspection. Gives him an excuse to shiver, drawing his arms up around his shoulders in textbook nervousness. Gets up with a worn groan, moving closer to the fire.

Next to Roy on the felled log.

It’s late and he should be sleeping, but instead Jesse finds himself enjoying the scenery, the clear skies above them, and accepts a mouthful of the whiskey Roy offers. Passes the bottle back with a thankful hum, as Clarence sets the barely-used meteorological equipment from the stump a bit further from the flames on the ground, sitting down with a mutter about not being young enough to sit on the ground like that.

“Do you, ah,” His teeth catch on the edge of his lip as Jesse pretends to choose his words carefully, “that is, do either of you think those wolves will find us up here? They don’t, ah, don’t sound terribly close, but...”

A scoff from the man beside him and Jesse offers an apology in his nervous chuckle, listening to the story Clarence starts to go into about how their last run in with a pack of wolves turned out- something about being up further north than they’d meant and without a horse to carry either of them. He makes a comment, seemingly without realizing, about this being ‘when Roy was quite a bit younger’, before hurrying on, as if he’d let something slip, and Jesse allows himself to toy with the strange detail for a while after the man heads back to bed.

It’s very late. He needs rest. And yet, Jesse allows himself to stay at the big man’s side well into the morning. Roy is a comforting figure and a good conversational partner, after all, and tomorrow is likely to be the last he sees of the two men. Best to take advantage of the situation, and not end up regretting it, a hundred and fifty some years later.


	2. Tell myself it's a day, until it's true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! now with more content, and more realistic emotional pacing (hopefully)

Nearly five months pass after he leaves the two men behind in Beecher's hope. Five and a half months, and the memory of that night sitting next to that man still hangs in the back of his mind. His soft hazel eyes, the way his gruff voice would get soft and almost soothing when he went on about a story he was fond of. It keeps him occupied on long, lonely nights, as the mission turns to its more tedious and nebulous stage.

Namely, he’s deep in a half-hearted infatuation, by the time he has to start really getting his hands dirty.

All this had been going well enough until the thaw hit, and winter had given sluggish way to spring. And then _they_ rolled into town.

The gang of outlaws, led by the notorious Dutch Van der Linde, had been one of the more hazy focuses during the research stage of the mission; their arrival means he needs to hurry up and get out of town before everything comes crashing down around them; get the information he needs before throats start getting slit. Which is all well and good, he’d known going in that there’d be tough situations like this; it'd been the reason no one really argued with him being the field agent on this mission, well that and the obvious. The threat will fade, and ultimately rivalry and unsustainable brutality will chase the gang on to their fates, whether that be fading into quiet obscurity or more gory infamy. It’s not something he’s supposed to intervene with.

Except for the fact that his contact with the Braithwaithes, is starting to get antsy, with all of this extra heat, and he still needs him to lay out some details on a few of the family's less virtuous contacts. The sheriff has apparently acquired a particularly tough new deputy, and his contact has been hinting that folks are closing rank, with outsiders snooping around the business. He needs more time.

With a dull alarm, Jesse eventually realizes, in between missed correspondences and simple evasiveness, that there's no choice but to head up to where the men are staying and deal with this himself- records indicate it’s likely a small, lean group of hardened men, used to rough times, and moving on before things get too heated. A big enough fuss and they’ll head on their way, if giving him a little something for the trouble.

He heads up to scout the areas they're likely to be hiding slowly, guns on full display, but clearly at rest. The horse he’s been riding, a lean criollo with spattered marbling is a little slow for evading pursuers but surefooted, already a friendly presence despite the fact that he's only known her a few weeks now. He's going to miss her when he has to return to 2067, and though he's resolved not to give her a name, she's taken to responding to his reports back to Shimada as if he's chatting with _her_ , funnily enough. Mercifully, the land around Rhodes is particularly scenic; not that most everything he's seen so far hasn't been downright picturesque, and the meandering trip is, if not a particularly smart idea, a decent opportunity to clear his head, and maybe reminisce on the things he'd have liked to say to Mr. Pohlmeyer that night a little more.

“Who goes there!?" The voice, low and almost soft-spoken, distracts him from the daydream he hadn't quite meant to slip into, and Jesse pulls on the reins, pulling his mare to a stop.

Words fail him for just a second- it's a young voice, too gentle to be caught up in the mess he knows is coming, but he shakes off the guilt reflexively. He'd been young and vulnerable once too, after all, and had raised more than his share of hell trying to prove himself.

"Just a, ah, a friend," He calls back, accent thickening in the hopes it'll earn him some goodwill, and slides off the criollo's back and backs up just a touch. Pauses, and after there's no response, moves the comforting weight of the rifle from his back and sets it on the ground, a peace offering. Leaving himself just the little pea-shooter tucked flat against his hip, but he's made do with less. "I'd like a bit of a word with Mr. Van der Linde, is all, no trouble."

Shuffling in the distance, as the guard tromps off, likely to report back to his superiors. Jesse waits, patient as he can be, and starts brushing out the mare's mane with his fingers. He doesn't turn his back to the direction the kid left from, there's no need to let himself get ambushed, after all, and keeps an ear out for boots swishing in the grass around him, but otherwise puts up the appearance of having let his guard down. An unthreatening and largely unassuming presence.

When the shuffling sound of someone moving through the trees returns, Jesse turns to look, movements slow and fluid. His wrist hovers in the vicinity of the revolver, but not close enough to indicate it's presence. His expression is neutral but pleasant enough. Not enough to threaten whoever's approaching.

And when he sees who it is, it takes all of Jesse's resolve not to let his jaw drop open a little bit.

Roy Pohlmeyer, the gruff and charming bounty hunter that he'd thought he'd split paths with over five months back, stands before him. Has his shoulders drawn up warily, pretty lips pulled to a worried frown, fingers resting non-too-subtlely on the revolver at his hip. In an instant, Jesse is correcting his posture, tongue rolling as he familiarizes himself again with the accent he'd developed for Oakley, the personality he'd carefully crafted. It's largely useless for what he needs to do here, but he slides into character all the same. 

Pohlmeyer blinks at him, going from wary to downright shocked. "Muh, Mister Oakley? What are you- not that I am unhappy to find _you_ and not some pillagin' bandit," here the figure lingering further in the trees, shotgun still held prominent on his shoulder, "but, well, I just- what are you doin' so far east? Thought you left to set up some star-gazin' facility..."

Jesse grins sheepishly at that, nervously running his tongue over the (gross) surface of his teeth before responding. "Ah, yeah, I'm, well I have something of a.... sensitive issue at hand. I, ah, I need to talk to someone in charge here about, well," The threat he'd been working up to fails him, in the face of Pohlmeyer's open-faced concern. The man he'd been, had pretended to be all those months ago, was kind, and inquisitive; gentle. An academic, star-eyed by the man's impressive stamina. And, though every good face comes with a speck of truth, there's a lot there that just _isn't_ him. Isn't the kind of man he really is.

He finishes the statement with a lame "About something important", at Pohlmeyer's insistent look. Finds his gaze lowering to the impressively thick beard the man's grown, since April, though he stops the navel-gazing as soon as he notices. Now is not the time to be pining, especially if Pohlmeyer's gotten himself tied up in Van der Linde's mess.

"Well, Mister Oakley, I s'pose if you're, ah, stayin' in town I can see 'f I c'n get someone over to help y'out," Roy hums, after a moment of pondering. Screws his mouth to the side, as if he wants to swallow the words as soon as he's said them, but doesn't backtrack. "If it's important. Since I know you ain't a fightin' man, an' all..."

Jesse huffs at that, a moment of genuine insecurity fueling his disregard, and rolls his shoulders in refusal. "Na- No, I'm not in any _danger_ , honestly, but the matter is... _pressing_ , and I would be quite indebted if you would help me, Mister Pohlmeyer. I'm, ah, staying a room above the tailor's in town, but I have business out by mattock pond, if that is more convenient for you. I'll, ah, leave the matter to you, then," he offers the man a tentative smile, over-styled mustache twitching against his cheek.

Pohlmeyer grunts in response, nodding and seeming to take the farewell for what it is. Turns to the young man still hovering nearby, gun having been set at ease a bit ago.

Jesse hums, making a show of picking his rifle back up and brushing it off before he straps it back on the mare, soothing his horse and giving her a little snack while he listens in just a moment.

"He's a frilly, scholarly sorta fella, ain't gonna be any trouble," Pohlmeyer grumbles, one hand on the kid's shoulder in a gesture of familiarity. "Ain't sure how he found us, but I'll take Hosea down to get the story, probably get him outta whatever trouble he's in, no fuss. Worse comes, we'll give him a little scare and send him outta town, alright?"

There's a softer response from the kid, but Jesse runs out of excuses to linger, not keen on looking suspicious after putting so much work into cementing his character. Sets off with a whistle, tipping his hat and giving the pair a friendly grin, and another thanks before he's gone. 

Not exactly how he'd wanted that to have gone, but not too bad either. He can hopefully stall Van Der Linde a few days, at least, with his sudden suspicious sniffing around, and if he gets his ass in gear mission-wise, that should be enough. Just has to put this infatuation aside, and do what needs to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> ((spoiler alert: it's definitely not the last time they meet- at least not if i get around to the next chapter))


End file.
